Zov’ha and Efiros went plummeting down a shaft that took them deep underground. It was a gentle slope, but because the walls of the shaft were smooth, there was nothing to grab onto and the two companions tumbled on for a while before hitting the cold stone floor. It was dark, so dark that the glowing tattoos on Zov’ha’s face — the thin white lines under her eyes and cheeks, on her lower lip and her chin — were enough to provide some dim light. 

Efiros was up first, grunting to let Zov’ha know he was alright. She on the other hand had twisted an ankle, and was in no condition to walk. Hissing in anger at her failure, she thumped at the ground several times with her fist, letting out her frustration. 

How could she have not checked for traps? That was utterly careless — it almost got both of them killed! She had been so close. She almost had Marana! She thought about her failed moment, again and again, twirling it around in her head until it twisted into a monstrous sense of disbelief and contempt. 

It was not long before she pulled herself together though — living in the wild had taught her: defeat is but a burden one must be acquainted with in order to persevere. She took off her gloves so that the ring-shaped tattoos on her fingers could provide more light. It looked like they were in a ventilation duct of some sort. The tunnel was probably as tall as it was wide, for in the darkness, Zov’ha could not make out how far away the walls were. She stood up, limping a little. 

'Let’s go Efy,' she whispered, but the bear protested by nudging her gently. He didn't want her to worsen her twisted ankle. 'I'll be alright, come.' 

Zov'ha limped along the tunnel for what seemed like hours before they came across a passageway big enough to squeeze through, ending up in a dingy corridor lined with empty prison cells on either side. A bit of light squeezed in through some cracks in the ceiling and the walls, giving the place a grotesque ambience. The air was heavy with the smell of mildew, making Zov’ha retch. She felt nauseous now, the world spun around her, and she collapsed to her knees. She could feel Efiros' snout on her cheeks, he was softly grunting and whining in concern. 

She shook her head, trying to clear her contorted thoughts. Looking down she saw her hands on the stone floor — they were trembling. Had she somehow received a blow to the head while tumbling down the shaft? She tried to push herself up, but her body would not budge. 

Efiros’ coaxing groans turned into a snarl. He moved in front of her, as if he were protecting her from something. Efiros growled threateningly. She looked up slowly to find a dark figure wearing a red helmet towering in front of her. Zov’ha mustered all her strength and pushed herself off the ground. She stood up, staggered, and blacked out. 

Zov’ha was at the snowy lake again, but this time the sky was not dark and starry. It was dusk. The sun was setting at the horizon, casting hues of ochre and peach in the west. She saw silhouettes at a distance — a skirmish was underway. A gang of miscreants at the lake shore were whacking and shooting at something. 

A single shadow was prancing above them. It was the boy with the wolf-like eyes. Gracefully eluding their attacks, as if the very air was his stage, he slashed and slayed his enemies below. He had a sword, its blade made of ice, and everyone it hacked felt the burn of a thousand flames. Skin, hide, metal, wood — they all turned to ash with a mere touch of the blade.  

Zov’ha observed carefully. She realised that she was in some sort of a dream or a trance. Slow down, let me watch you. And he did. The battle moved at snail's pace, giving Zov’ha various perspectives of the boy’s moves. The sword’s hilt was made of a hardened metal, but she could see the iridescent surface clearly. It was either made of Autoichorium, or coated with it. The part where the blade emerged from the hilt was blurry — like looking through vapour. 

But the most significant part she observed was the almost-invisible snow particles around the boy. To an ordinary eye it would have looked like the snow kicked up through the natural motion of the battle. But she realised a thin spray of snow was being absorbed by the sword from the surroundings.

The pace quickened again, and in a few minutes the boy had defeated his enemies. He alighted on the snowy bank, extinguished his blade, and sheathed the hilt. He then turned towards Zov’ha. It was time for her to find out who he was. She felt like she had full control of her thoughts now. She walked briskly towards him. Now, jogging, as he was only a few metres away. His wolf-like eyes bore through her, as if she didn’t exist. She wanted to call out to him, but she didn’t know his name. 

Just as she was about to reach him, a massive body with leathery wings swooped down from the sky and carried him away.

She woke up to a blinding, red light focussed on her. She blinked and covered her eyes with her right arm. She could move again — she had recovered her energy. 

‘Took you long enough to wake up,’ came a raspy voice from somewhere around her. Zov’ha straightened up immediately. There was a sudden sharp pain from her twisted ankle. ‘You’ll hurt yourself! Lie down,’ said the mysterious person as Zov’ha shut her eyes tightly to bear the pain. 

When she felt the pain ease, she tried opening her eyes again. Through blurry vision, she could make out the figure of a small person. She rubbed her eyes as the person came closer. It was a young woman who looked like she was in her teens, with  light-blue coloured hair, set straight up in a cone, as if she had just been electrified. But what startled Zov’ha was that the woman was probably the purest form of a Mechanov she may have seen. Apart from her head, and left shoulder and arm, the rest of her body was completely biomechanical. Her torso, protected by a transparent flexible glass-like material, flaunted a wide array of bionic organs — including a fully functioning bionic heart. The spine that held her frame up was shaped like a mammalian one, but was a plexus of metallic plates attached to her spinal cord. Nerves, arteries, veins, both real and bionic, were delicately interwoven with wires and tubes, which travelled all the way from her artificial lungs, down to her pelvic cavity, supplying blood as well as some sort of green-blue fluid along with electric signals for the functioning of this synthetic body, as if it were the real thing. Her right arm and legs, however, were machines in the classical-sense — a contortion of wires, gears and alloyed rods. 

‘Where am I?’ Zov’ha croaked. ‘...And who are you?’ 

‘You, unlucky traveller, are in the deepest dungeons of Lüstravyr,’ replied the Mechanov. Her eyes were curiously searching Zov’ha for anything that may betray more of her guest’s background. ‘I am a prisoner here. There’s no escaping this place, you know.’ 

Zov’ha looked around and noticed she was in some sort of a laboratory with a high ceiling. There were several screens behind her host, all connected to machines that she had not seen before. The room was dimly lit by the light from the screens and some colourful strips of light on the wall and under the bed she sat upon. The Mechanov turned around to fiddle with some of the pipes that were connected to the paraphernalia. There was a bustle on the other end of the room, and Efiros made his appearance, stepping lively towards Zov’ha dropping a few inconsequential items on the way.   

‘Your pet realised that I was no threat,’ said the woman dryly. ‘I thought I was in danger at first, but when I took a good look at him I saw that he was just a cub.’ 

‘You were wearing a red helmet,’ Zov’ha said, rubbing Efiros’ neck.

‘The standard red glass helmet that was used by the jailers here? Yeah,’ scoffed the Mechanov. ‘That’s what anyone would find in the depots across the castle. Your portable gas mask works just as well.’ 

Zov’ha realised that she was no longer wearing her mask, and the air here was clean. She eyed it lying in the corner with her bag, lance, and gloves. ‘You didn’t answer my second question,’ she pressed.

‘I told you, I’m a prisoner here. Have been ever since I left Aeroz and started a life here.’ She turned back around towards Zov’ha. There was a thin film wrapped around Zov’ha’s wounded ankle. ‘That foot should heal in about an hour. I’ve injected a growth cocktail with permission from your furry friend here.’ Efiros looked up at Zov’ha and licked her nose. 

‘Who imprisoned you?’ inquired Zov’ha persistently. ‘Was it Marana Skjavok?’ 

‘A “thank you” would have been nice,’ replied the Mechanov. ‘And where did you hear that name?’ 

Zov’ha didn’t answer immediately. Something about this place did not seem right. She had to get going… keep moving. Now was not the time to sit around and chat with a stranger in the dungeons. She was getting anxious. But would her ankle let her walk? She couldn’t risk it… she couldn’t risk bringing harm to both of them again. 

She looked down at her wristband and tapped it, which brought up the ‘wanted’ message from the Rover’s Guild. ‘There’s a bounty on Marana,’ she whispered. ‘I came here looking for her. I… I made a miscalculation when I confronted her. And that’s how we ended up here.’ 

‘You confronted Marana?’ Asked the woman, a concerned look on her face. 

‘Yes, she fought well,’ Zov’ha replied. ‘She…’

‘Was it someone tall wearing a red cape and boots?’ the woman interrupted. 

‘Yes, how do you…’ 

‘That’s not Marana,’ the woman interrupted her again. 

‘How do you know that?’ Zov’ha replied. She raised her arm higher and swiped the interface on the wrist to bring up Marana’s photograph. ‘Look at this generated image. She fits the description.’ 

‘No, that’s not her. I know because I am Marana. I’m Marana Skjavok. Former member of M.A.R.T. and a well-known hyperprosthetist,’ she clarified, turning around and folding her hands. She was visibly furious as she mumbled through gritted teeth, ‘I can’t believe those bastards sassed a bounty on my head!’ 

‘You’re Marana Skjavok?’ Zov’ha managed. ‘Then who is…?’ 

‘That monster up there?’ Marana snapped. ‘She’s my creation… a mindless killer. I was so obsessed with…’ She stopped herself and cocked her head towards Zov’ha. ‘Nevermind that.’ 

‘What did you do, Marana?’ Zov’ha asked, trying to get off the bed. ‘What monster did you create?’ 

Marana realised that she had blabbered to a complete stranger without a thought, but after being imprisoned for so long any company was good company — even if it was her bounty hunter. The memories of her past welled up strong emotions and so she turned around once more, but this time she left the laboratory through a nearby automatic door.   

Zov’ha was standing now, but she had to put her weight on her unblemished foot. She dragged her weight across the lab, and examined the screens and various apparatus. She could not comprehend most of it, but it looked more or less like data that a biohacker or a hyperprosthetist would use. She was still restless from all that had happened. Even though she was weary, she would not let herself sit around when there were so many questions that needed answering. She followed Marana’s trail and exited through the automatic door with Efiros behind her.

They entered a fairly large chamber that looked like an old library. The room was full of shelves with old books. Zov’ha walked amongst the shelves, looking for Marana. All of a sudden she heard a wailing cry. It was the same sound she had heard on her first night at Lüstravyr. At the time, she had thought it to be the cry of an animal that sounded strangely human. It was coming from above her, somewhere in the castle. 

‘That’s her up there,’ came Marana’s raspy voice from behind. She circled around Zov’ha towards the shelves on the wall, eyeing her carefully as she walked past her. ‘That’s the monster I created. She screams most nights. She’s in pain.’ 

‘Who is she?’ Zov’ha whispered, now a little concerned.  

Marana took a deep breath and replied, ‘She used to be my colleague. Her name is Jeskha. She was a principal member of M.A.R.T, a great inventor, my closest friend… and my partner.’ 

Zov’ha felt a chill run down her spine as the scream echoed through the walls again. She shut her eyes, and when the shrieking ceased, she opened her eyes again and said, ‘What did you do to her?’ 

‘She was a pure Xalian — living in a portable incubator and everything.’ Marana said, shifting her gaze from Zov’ha to the bookshelves, purposefully not making eye contact with her guest. ‘She was dying. But I knew, with my skills, I could save her. I used to be a well-renowned hyperprosthetist in all of Aeroz, y’know. And I had a jacked lab in M.A.R.T headquarters. With the resources, I told her that I could save her, and that gave her hope. But we weren’t given permission to do it. M.A.R.T said it was too dangerous and that Jeshka could die —- or probably become a… become something else. I convinced them that I was born a near-Xalian too, and as my body gave up one part at a time, I managed to replace every single one of them. Sure, it was different when it came to Jeshka, because she was in an incubator and I was not, but I knew I could help her.’

‘So the two of you left,’ said Zov’ha. ‘And set up a lab and a home here in an abandoned prison.’ 

‘Sure did,’ Marana replied. ‘And we were successful. A few years ago, I transferred her body from the incubator into something I had fashioned specifically for her. It was similar to what I had done to myself. I was so damn worried she would die before I finished. But it all worked out. We would finally start our life together… alone, but happy.’

‘What happened to her then?’ Zov’ha asked, now genuinely sympathetic. 

‘I made a miscalculation,’ Marana muttered. ‘An experiment gone wrong. I had somehow severed some of her neural connections. She couldn’t recognise me and she panicked — destroying everything in sight. I had been prepared to flatline her if anything were to go wrong, but she was so strong I could not contain her in time. She tossed me into my lab and locked me in.’ 

‘Have you tried breaking out?’ Zov’ha said, a bit too sternly. ‘If you’ve been here for years, surely you must have?’

‘I know this castle well,’ she said, turning to Zov’ha. She was smiling through her pain, trying not to darken the mood for her guests, even though she felt that Zov’ha could have been a bit more considerate towards her. ‘There’s no escape. Unless M.A.R.T sends an army or something, you and I are going to die… in here.’

Zov’ha wasn’t going to accept defeat — not again. She shook her head and walked towards the exit as the shrieking started again. ‘I am not staying here with you,’ she said standing at the door, not turning to look at her host. ‘Efiros and I will find a way out. You can join us when we do, or rot in here for all I care.’